OK, guys. You know the basics.
We arrived at the polls in Bob’s full size pickup and Kitty and I got out and I grabbed my cane and sunglasses. I short leashed Kitty; he heeled pretty well and actually looked like a Seeing Eye cat is supposed to look. I took Bob’s arm and we entered the building and got in line.
We’d been in line just about a minute when a poll worker came up and asked me if I had any special needs. That was nice of him. Bob answered him.
“I’ve got 20/20 vision and need to be escorted to the booth by a blind man,” he said.
“Err, Son, didn’t you mean that the other way around?” he responded. He was a pretty old guy, in his 70s. He could call us ‘Son’ if he wanted to.
“Whatever,” I interrupted.
Our asses were now covered. We had told the truth.
We waited in line, and as to be expected, some big oaf passes by and damned near stepped on Kitty. Kitty responded with a vicious clawing of the asshole’s leg. Haven’t seen him do something like that in years. The asshole got pissed and mouthed off about animals in the polling place.
“It’s a guide animal,” said a Soccer Mom.
“I don’t care what it is, if he claws me again…”
A lot of people started looking at the asshole, and he realized he wasn’t too popular. He made one more face saving threat.
“Touch that animal and you’ll be shot dead!” said a voice behind me. I knew her. I ‘bout like to shit. It was the woman from down the street. She’s really nice, and is one of my admirers. She’s a real Amazon. “Blind people with Seeing Eye cats are permitted to carry licensed handguns to protect their cats from Seeing Eye dogs.” She said. “Federal Law. John Kerry fought for that bill, along with Ted Kennedy and Charles Schumer.”
The poll worker came charging over and in a loud voice said something about no firearms in the polling pace. He nodded in my direction. “Except for him,” he said.
“Sounds like something those idiots would do,” said an unknown voice.
The whole line chuckled.
The asshole didn’t know whether to shit or go blind, so he closed one eye and farted. He moved away.
My neighbor lady chuckled. “Hey, Pic, wait’ll I tell my husband about this,” she said.
We laughed. I patted my underarm. The Soccer Mom directly behind me looked concerned. Could it be true? Was the blind man packing?
A little kid with his mother started trying to play with Kitty in a way I knew he didn’t like. I signaled Bob, who started coughing heavily. The instant everyone started looking worriedly at Bob, I cracked the little bastard with my cane.
The little yard ape ran back to the safety of his mother. Smart little crumb snatcher, it ever I ever saw one.
As we got to the front of the line, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out an Irish Whisky bottle full of tea and took a healthy swig and passed it to Bob. He took a swig and offered it to the Soccer Mom behind us. She looked pretty upset and refused.
Now the pistol packing blind guy is half in the bag? Legally? John Kerry sponsored the bill? WTF?
When we were at the front of the line, the woman asked me my name, and I gave her Neighbor Bob’s. She dug out a card and asked me to sign it.
No way in hell was I going to forge his signature, so I said to him, “Take the pen and keep my writing on the line. I’ll sign. We’ve done this before.”
Bob took the pen, put it on the line and I placed my hand atop his and we buffaloed them. Our integrity was still intact. We had done nothing really wrong. It was really Bob’s signature.
To ham it up a bit, Kitty led me right into a pole and I hit harder than I thought I was going to. I bounced off and plowed into a voting machine. It almost got knocked over!
“You ought to take that damned cat to a Chinese restaurant” growled Bob.
Everyone looked aghast. Except for the big guy that had felt the wrath of the SECs claws.
“Yeah,” said the big oaf.
“You keep out of this while you have a head on your shoulders,” said the Amazon from down the road. You even look at that kitty again and I’ll slap you silly!”
Everyone looked at her and busted up. The big guy turned red. Again.
Bob and I entered the booth and he voted.
We started off. The Soccer Mom who was behind me mumbled something about this being the first time she’s voted for a Republican POTUS in her whole life.
I guess she figured that she sure in hell wasn’t going to vote for anyone that would allow a blind drunk to carry a pistol. I say take the votes any legal way we can!
I let Kitty lead me into another post on the way out. BAM! I hit again.
“I need a fuckin’ drink,” I said, shaking my bruised head and pulling the Jameson’s jug out and taking a snort.
This drew pretty good looks. Horrified looks.
Then I short-leashed Kitty and the three of us stumbled across the lot, got in the pickup and started it up. A cruiser instantly blocked us. I rolled down the window.
“You were drinking? Asked the LEO.
I offered him the bottle of iced tea. He didn’t even sniff. He’s the same LEO that came to the house after we raised hell at Builder’s Square years ago.
“Didn’t you learn when your wife made you sleep in the basement for six weeks?” he asked.
He laughed and shook his head, got back into the car and drove off.
Kitty gets steak tonight.